


revisionist history

by orphan_account



Series: likewise [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blanket Permission, Established Relationship, F/M, Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:55:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25916944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: He thinks;here, let me rewrite my history for you.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester
Series: likewise [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1858870
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	revisionist history

Fourth thing you should know: Sam’s fallen in love thrice. 

*

  1. _they say that love is like a car crash; it only happens to others_



When Sam was seventeen, he met a girl. 

Her name was Sarah, and she had dark hair and bright blue eyes and a sweet smile. She knew everything there was to know about linguistics, and the first time he talked to her he stuttered so hard he was sure she’d never talk to him again. But she did, again and again, until it almost seemed plausible that he could lean over and kiss her and she’d want it too. 

Dean thumped him on the shoulders when he first heard, a proud-big-brother smile tinted with something that Sam didn't read, the type of thing they’d mutually agreed to put behind them. He’d been fifteen. He hadn’t known any better. Dean had just been going along because he had to, because he was Sam’s big brother and didn’t know how not to give him something, and some days Sam still can’t sleep because there’s this raw feeling of guilt in his chest, something he just can’t carve out.

Sarah was different. She left him notes in his locker when she thought he was having a bad day, argued six ways to Sunday about historical events and their implications - he can still hear Dean groaning, _for fuck’s sake, Sam, we don’t need to hear about the Napoleonic wars again, just get with it and fuck like normal people,_ both him and Sarah gone red as can be. 

He wanted to take her to prom, ask her out with some big display full of little references, wanted to take her to the movies and spend the night at her house watching crap TV. In his less lucid moments, he’d imagined asking her to marry him, running away and living with her family instead, because her family was _normal:_ didn’t live out of motel rooms, didn’t hunt monsters. 

They left two months later, and Sam never even got to say goodbye. 

*

2\. _if i wrote songs about love it would be to say there's no such thing_

He meets Jess through a friend-of-a-friend, at one of the rare parties that he's gone to since he started up at Stanford. She’s sweet and beautiful and intelligent and everything he’s ever wanted in a person, and he’s straight-up shell shocked when she seems to be interested back. She kisses him for the first time under a sprawling oak tree on campus, the one he always studied under. “I used to walk past you, see you studying here, you know,” She says, smiling secretively. “Before we really met. I wanted to come over, and… I don’t know, say something. But you were always so preoccupied, reading or checking your phone all the time.” 

He remembers that: some days he’s still waiting for a voicemail, for a call. He doesn’t know what he was waiting for. Maybe some part of him expected that Dean would try harder to make him stay. 

*

Jess is another thing that Sam isn’t: patient. When Sam brings up his childhood, aborted mentions ( _my father taught me about guns, my brother worked at a 7-11 once-)_ she doesn’t press, although Sam knows her well enough to see the curiosity in her eyes. 

*

Jess is the one who wants to go to Mexico, says they should enjoy their summer break instead of working shit jobs (Jess and Sam), visiting family ( _Jess_ ), or studying (Sam). Sam argues against it, says, it’s a waste of time, why do we need to leave, everything we want is right here, and Jess just rolls her eyes, says, “Sam, you’ve really got no taste for adventure.” Sam wants to tell her that no, he hasn’t just got a taste he’s gotten an overdose, but he can’t make his lips form the words, can’t even bring himself to brush the truth. 

Jess overpacks, makeup and books and study material and canvases and Sam has to refrain from telling her, from giving the only piece of advice he’s ever gotten about life on the road; take only what you need, and remember that what you need is a lot less than what you want. He throws in three changes of clothes and a toothbrush, and Jess looks at him weirdly.

He adds a knife. 

*

The road is strange when you’re in the driver’s seat, and it feels like a foreign country with Jess in shotgun. She shoots the breeze about how their friends have been doing, lets him play Nirvana without a word of complaint, and navigates like a pro, pulling them into Tijuana without having gotten lost so much as once. 

Their hotel is by far the nicest place Sam has ever stayed in; sleek rooms with clean sheets and modern architecture, Jess fawning over the black-and-white prints of the old city on their walls. There’s no blood in the sink, no drain pipes showing, the shower is pristine clean. The whole thing comes with breakfast included, and a pool that doesn't have hair clumped in the drains. Jess probably chalks up his amazement to never having been in a hotel before, but the truth is he’s just flabbergasted at how much difference a hundred dollars makes. 

They eat cheap tacos off the corner of a street, an old woman trying to sell them souvenirs. Jess picks one up, wraps a bracelet around her wrist and passes the equivalent of five dollars, and the woman grins brilliantly, showcasing two missing front teeth. They walk down the Avenida Revolucion, Jess licking an ice cream and smiling at buskers playing guitars and accordions. 

Paper cutouts and decorations hang overhead as they walk through the market as Jess tells him about the places she’s been: the time they went to Disneyworld when she was six, how they used to spent their summers camping in Oregon or Washington, huge towering trees and long beautiful beaches and endless rounds of rummy and poker for marshmallows (they played poker once. Sam lost on purpose). She loops her arm around Sam’s, tangles their fingers together and gives him a smile so bright that he wants nothing but this day, forever, for the rest of his life. 

*

Later, back in the hotel room, when they’re lying half-dressed on the cleanest king bed Sam has ever witnessed, she asks him where they went when he was a kid. “Oh, you know,” He says, trying to think of an answer that skirts the truth, “Around,” He gestures in a way that he hopes she understands as _everywhere but where I’ve wanted to be._

Because this is where he wants to be, he thinks. Forever. 

*

When Dean comes back, Sam’s first thought is: _not again._ He’s pretty sure he’s hallucinating, but the version of his brother that exists in his head is different from the one that comes back: Dean in his head is easier to understand, makes more sense, is less loyal and has fewer compunctions about the strangest of things (Dean has a moral aversion to peach pie. Sam has no clue why. When Sam doesn’t understand things about people, sometimes he writes them out.)

He keeps himself going with thoughts of Jess, her sweet smiles and impressionist paintings and the best cookies he’s ever had.

*

When they leave for good, Dean doesn’t look back.

Sam does. 

*

3\. _the one who broke me wants me back_

They don’t talk about it. 


End file.
